Windows from your Home
by SilverMoonPhantom
Summary: A collection of stories and snippets exploring various headcanons and plot ideas inspired by Tolkien's works
1. Heat of the Moment

_AN: These stories will be snippets of stories I have played with. Some can be read as oneshots. Some are scattered headcanons that don't necessarily exist within the same AU (as some clash with each other) but are interesting ideas that I'd like to explore in a story._

_Some of them (Like Shrinkydinks) I'm actively fleshing out right now to become a longer story._

_Feel free to comment~_

**Heat of the Moment**

* * *

Frodo Baggins was the son of Drogo Baggins and Primula Brandybuck.

As a child, he certainly let his mother's blood shine through, playing pranks and spreading rumors and generally causing havoc to hobbitkind. His friends were infamous in their own ways, and their egging on gave him a kind of foolish courage that really should be left alone.

Frodo Baggins was also the cousin (slash adopted nephew) of Bilbo Baggins, the only hobbit to help reclaim a mountain from a fire-breathing dragon. The 'fire-breathing' part was mostly repetition, since Smaug was really the last great Fire-drake and inherently a fire-breathing kind of dragon, but his Uncle seemed to like reminding him of his deeds whenever Frodo would rather not help with chores.

"I walked all the way to Erabor to reclaim a mountain against a fire-breathing dragon, and then walked back! You can clean your room in a night!"

"You rode a pony halfway there., and rode on Eagles another part."

"I fought Orcs and Wargs!"

"Fine, I'll pick up the mess."

In any case, Frodo Baggins was quite experienced in dealing with his Uncle's outrageous exaggerations, and finding nuggets of truth within the riddles spun by someone who had fooled both a dragon and a riddle-happy goblin-eater.

A gray wizard and a handful of representitives were no comparison.

"It can only be destroyed by the fires from whence it came!"

Gandalf's voice was powerful, but it did not get the cowering reception that he expected.

"Why yes that's wonderful, but unless you plan on Waltzing through the front gates of Mordor flashing a rude gesture while completely nude, I don't see how your plan could possibly get worse."

The wizard frowned sternly at the young Hobbit who spoke up. Frodo blinked up at him with wide blue eyes.

"The ring must be destroyed, to help unmake the evils that the dark lord has wrought upon Middle-earth."

The halfling nodded, biting his lip and trying very hard not to meet anyone's gaze directly.

"Of course I agree with you. I'd just like to point out that Mount Doom is possibly the most dangerous place on the continent – possibly the world."

"Which is why we will be gathering a group of travelers both hardy and strong of will to deliver the ring to its final resting place."

The wizard's voice was nearly a growl as he tried to impart the importance of this quest on a Baggins who clearly had not abandoned an ounce of his mother's bloodline. He'd not be hard-pressed to say Frodo seemed even less Bagginsish than his coming-of-age party seventeen years ago! That is, Baggins-ish in relation to the entire bloodline, not just his uncle who was still regarded as 'Mad Baggins' in many circles.

"Wonderful plan, I mean that with the greatest sincerity" _(It was obviously he was not in fact very sincere.)_ "But did it ever occur to you that the ring might be destroyed in a different volcano?"

The sudden silence spoke for itself.

A dwarf spoke up. Frodo could not recall his name after such swift introductions. The one with the axe, as unhelpful as that descriptor was.

"What other fiery mountains do you see, lad? Not many ranges have a molten heart. None but for the dark one, to my maps."

Frodo tilted his head, drawing courage from his friends still obviously hiding in the brush and listening in. He caught a quiet snicker on the wind, and found the corner of his mouth twitching slightly.

"Not so much a mountain, but certainly a volcano of some sort. It lies to the west and much further to the south of the Shire, sprawling halfway in the western sea. It oozes liquid stone every so often and expands the edges of its island. I've heard the merchant Men grumble about it."

The stillness continued, though one of the Elf nobles was beginning to give Gandalf a fairly unimpressed look.

Frodo fidgeted with a honey-colored curl, following a dragonfly with his eyes.

"It shouldn't take more than a month or two to get there by pony. A bit better than the six-month trip across Middle-Earth." _less dangerous, too_ went unsaid.


	2. Mushrooms and Diets

**Mushrooms and Diets**

* * *

Hobbits have a great fondness for mushrooms. Not just for food, but also for smoking and drinking them steeped into tea.

Great for relaxation, his father always said, and one of the remedies for anxiety or temper is for a special mushroom tea. The mild hallucinations meant it was working.

After Rivendale, Bofur noticed Bilbo had suddenly become much more relaxed and complacent, not caring about things that would have otherwise thrown him into a huff. He simply sat on his pony, smoking his odd-smelling pipe, gazing off into the distance and sounding quite airy and flat when he spoke.

Bofur was alarmed, thinking it a malady of the spirit, but when questioned, Bilbo assured him that he's simply found some good herbs outside of Rivendale. Good herbs and good mushrooms, with good feelings attached to them.

No cause for alarm at all.

He was a bit annoyed when Bilbo politely declined his request to try some, but forgot about the incident soon enough.

The next time they stopped for food, no one really noticed what Bilbo had been adding to his own food, until Fili gave an upset shout and lunged for his half-empty bow in an attempt to bat it out of BIlbo's hand. The Hobbit yelped and pulled his food out of the dwarf's reach.

"What in the world are you doing?!" He cried, with one of the added mushrooms still on his fork.

"You added those to your own food?" The blonde demanded, hands on his hips.

"Yes..." He agreed, rather confused. "Is this a cultural thing? I didn't know any rules of mushroom consumption were practiced."

Upon looking closer, they were all horrified. The bright yellow caps were notorious for being extremely poisonous to dwarves.

"Those are deathcaps." Oin said quietly, giving him a hard stare. Bilbo frowned at him, squinting at the dwarf before replying.

"I am aware of what Men call them." He popped it into his mouth, sighing at the startled and horrified noises around him.

"I am a Hobbit, not a Dwarf. I apologize if I've offended you or some such thing, but I haven't had a proper mushroom dish in ages, and if your people have some strange taboo against mushrooms, I'll thank you to allow for a difference in cultural opinion."

Fili waved his arms about.

"Deathcap is poisonous! Deadly!"

Kili simply sat in shocked silence.

"Don't be silly, I know all the mushrooms in my food, and not one could bring me to harm in this quantity. "

They stared at him like he was going to keel over or spontaneously combust.

After some explanations and a sadly cold bowl of stew, They learn that hobbits have very different ideas on what constitutes edible.

Nightshade, mushrooms, milkweed and goldberries were all quite nice, if prepared properly.

Those same plants were considered death to other races.

Everyone resolved to leave the Hobbit to his own food, and to never try and steal from his plate.


	3. Say What You Mean

**Say What You Mean**

* * *

Hobbits were a simple folk. They liked good food, warm beds and a safe home.

At least, that's what they'd tell you.

When an Outsider meets a Hobbit, the general first impressions are as follows: Soft, Gluttonous and Unnecessarily Fussy.

The only callouses a Hobbit earned were that of an honest day's work. No long scars from battles, and they were generally a bit curved in shape from generous meals.

They enjoyed a minimum of four meals a day, and would take six or seven if they had time. When confronted by a new problem, they would fret over it and waste many words trying to describe what exactly the problem was, before actually getting around to doing anything about it.

Interestingly, the opposite is true if you ask a Hobbit. They think Outsiders are Rude, Reckless and Harsh.

For you see Hobbits, unlike many other races, could get to the heart of things rather easily. There was something about the spoken word that their keen ears could hone in on, something in the breath that could give away a heart's secrets.

Simply put, it was impossible to lie to a Hobbit and get away with it.

Oh, you could certainly tell falsehoods all day long, and the curly-footed creatures would probably listen and nod along. However, all you'd be doing is giving them an easier time in hearing your heart's song and what you know to be true.

And so, Hobbits are a peaceful folk.

After all, it's rather hard to stab someone when every bit of chatter is a flash of insight into their flow of emotions and the honest truth of how they see the world and how they view other people.

Trust and Honesty in a Hobbit's mind are very close to how often you speak, and how many words you use. After all, if you speak too little, you must have something to hide.

They spend many words to explain the goings-on of a situation, and gossip is both popular and crucial for their society's continuing peace.

Even with 'warring' clans, talk is upheld using snippets of gossip and casual conversations – just enough to let the other family know that they were lying through their teeth when they complimented your gardens, and truly did still find you contemptible.

Hobbits are terribly good at bartering with people who aren't also Hobbits – They know exactly how much you're willing to spend the moment you open your mouth, and know how valuable that item is for you to obtain.

Luckily, most Hobbits are not terribly greedy when it comes to coin.

They mostly trade commodities rather than currency, and use gold as a way to measure how many bushels of corn they can trade for a pony.

* * *

When the wizard Gandalf came to Bilbo Baggins and offered an adventure, the gentlehobbit heard the request. He also heard the private thoughts whispering in the shadow of each word, curling like smoke through blades of grass. It would be fraught with danger, this adventure, and the wizard was unsure if it was even a good idea to ask for this favor.

The more they talked, the more Bilbo got the impression that this was a very hazardous and unwise path for anyone who liked possessing all of their limbs.

It was only reasonable for him to turn the offer down.

* * *

To explain the cultural faux pass that the dwarves committed when barging into Bag End without so much as a by-your-leave, let me explain in words that might make a bit more sense.

Imagine you're sitting at home, enjoying a meal, when there comes a knock at your door.

When you open it, a crowd of people comes parading in, straight-faced and without explanation as they make a sandwich in your kitchen and begin painting your walls. Despite any demand for introductions or queries for why on earth they were doing such a thing, the crowd simply stares at you as they continue to apply an absolutely disgusting shade of green-brown to your walls and even to the paintings hanging on them. You cannot stop them. Your angry cries and distressed flailing does nothing in the face of their apathetic destruction of your property.

While the dwarrow may have introduced themselves by name, they did not explain their reasoning for staying, nor did they comment on the state of Bilbo's gardens or house.

To put it simply, they did not give enough words to let him get a feel of their 'Truth.' Those few moments of discerning each other's intentions was about as important to Hobbit propriety as making sure to wear pants in public, or not kicking a fauntling.

Had they stopped for conversation, he very well may have let them raid his larders.

As it stood, they were very much unwelcome.


	4. The Shire Dragon

**The Shire Dragon**

* * *

During the excavation of a hilly region in Buckland for another Smial, a family of Brandybuck hobbits stumbled across a small hole already built.

When they brought a lantern in, they found the dwelling (for surely it must be, with such deliberately sloped walls and smooth floors) was no longer inhabited. They cleared the dirt that their unexpected entrance had thrown into the room, and set to exploring.

The tunnels wove down into the earth, branching off into smaller or larger rooms.

Finally, they reached a room that was not perfectly clean.

There were skulls and skeletons of small animals littering the floor, marks on the bones making it clear that something had picked them clean. The room was large, extending far beyond what their flickering candlelight could reach.

With tentative steps and as much silence as was afforded their kind, the hobbits found what lay in the darkness beyond. Dirt floors sloped upwards into a cone, padded with straw and bits of scavenged fur.

Nestled within were four shattered eggs, the shards scattered around the single whole one.

Briar Brandybuck was a rather overly curious hobbit, and could not help but touch the smooth white surface. To the complete surprise of every onlooker, the egg started to wiggle and crack open.

A slimy snakelike creature flopped out onto the straw and fur, wriggling unhappily and making an odd sort of churruping sound.

The initial recognition that this creature was, in fact, a dragon, was later swamped by the realization that they had been living next to a dragon's nest for quite some time.

One of the excavators wanted to kill the beast before it could grow up and harm any of them. No respectable Hobbit would put the rest of their kind in such peril.

But, it chirped and squirmed like a Fauntling, tugging hard on Briar's heartstings. The Brandybucks were never respectable hobbits anyway.

* * *

Years passed, and Briar did her best to raise the dragon to have proper manners and gentleness befitting a Hobbit. Her efforts were looked on with some consternation before they realized the dragon could actually learn and speak Westron.

Soon after that, the general populous accepted his name (Beratric Brandybuck) and some of them even became friends with the swiftly-growing reptile.

As his skills in speech and manners increased, his lack of dragonish traits became more obvious.

He could not breath fire or ice, and did not have wings.

His scales were an orange sort of brown, like red clay and nothing like the sparkling metallic scales that legendary dragons were described with.

Beratric had no particular greed for gold, beyond finding it useful to buy other things. The only things he collected were colorful snail shells and the pressed flower petals that his mother was fond of.

His similarity to a snake went beyond his general shape, and included a pair of sharp fangs that could fold up or excrete venom.

His diet consisted of mushrooms and the standard hobbit fare, and he could digest even the toughest cuts of meat.

As he grew older, the tiny lumps on the top of his skull grew into a handsome pair of twisting horns, and it became very obvious that he would likely outlast any of his Hobbit relatives.

* * *

The Brandybucks had plenty of shed dragon-scale, as well as the yearly shed horn. From those things they made lovely pale pipes and strong handles for garden tools. Though it was nearly impossible to cut through the tough scales, one lucky jeweler had a set of diamond-tipped tools that he used to shape the scales into useful things like knife blades and buckles and sturdy trowel heads.

The Brandybucks also had a dangerous venom on their hands, which thickened the blood of a living being in seconds. A drop in a wound could incite a thick clot in only a few heartbeats, giving the poor victim either a heart attack or stroke.

It was extremely effective to taint bait in vermin traps, and to dilute into a healing paste to stop heavy blood flow in wide injuries where clots would normally not form. Such wounds were fairly rare in the peace-loving creatures, but farm accidents did happen on occasion.

They claimed it was extracted from a special mushroom that they had cultivated in secret, and refused to share the details.

In reality, Beratric Brandybuck simply bit down into a cloth-covered vase, and let the pressure milk his fangs of the yellowish sort of venom.

* * *

The Dragon grew a crop of mushrooms in his tunnels, after getting enough mulch from half-rotted tree stumps. This collection only expanded when he realized how many types of mushrooms there were, and set up a separate room for each of the twelve local species. (and one room for cultivating a few strains his mother had bought him as a gift, purchased from traveling merchant Men)

When winter set in, he retreated to the tunnels they found him in, and began extending them toward The Shire. Along the way he found an underground spring that nearly flooded his tunnels before he could rim it with stones and clay.

* * *

During the Fell Winter, after the first wolves came, many of the hobbits gathered up their larders, and moved everyone into the Dragon's tunnels. It was a bit cramped, but it was warm and safe. The well nearby gave plenty of water for stews and baths, and Beratic had a rather large collection of food. The mushroom garden remained plentiful, his underground lair remaining nearly the same temperature year-round and therefore immune to the seasonal changes.

They were not bothered by the orcs or wolves running rampant through the streets (though many later had to repair broken windows and splintered doors from home invasions.)

That barbed wire was thrown outside the tunnel entrance, laced with venom probably helped.

After that, his existence wasn't a terribly well-kept secret, as practically every Hobbit from the Brandybuck River to Michel Delving knew about him. Luckily, they were all very keen on keeping Outsiders from taking offense to having a dragon close at hand, however friendly that dragon may be.

As such, the Hobbits were incredibly tight-lipped about said dragon, on top of their natural wariness toward Outsiders. (Outsiders being anyone outside The Shire, including but not limited to: Elves, Men, Dwarves and any talking being who lived outside their borders, including Bree-Hobbits)

* * *

And so, in The Shire there lived a Dragon.

Its hoard was not that of gold or jewels, and it cared little for things that gleamed.

It did not live in a cave, or a stolen mountain city.

Instead, it lived quite comfortably in a series of tunnels, much like a rabbit warren, with soft moss floors and a year-round pleasantly cool temperature.

Its hoard was of fine foods that needed ripening, like pickles and good spirits, as well as a huge underground garden of many types of flavorful mushrooms.

It used its dragon-spell not to incite greed in the things it possessed, but to tempt wolves and bears to its waiting fangs and away from sheep and hobbits.

The dragon was a well-behaved and much-beloved neighbor.

* * *

When Thorin Oakenshield, son of Thrain, son of Thror, came to Bag End for help in slaying a dragon, Belladonna Baggins was quite befuddled. Why, dragons are quite kind and reasonable creatures. Why would one want to slay such useful neighbors?

The Dwarves were not particularly happy to know the Hobbits had such high opinions of Dragons.

The Shire Dragon was not terribly happy that there were cruel and unreasonable Dragons out terrorizing, and wanted to do something about it.

After a lot of cajoling and assurances, The Company plus a few well-intentioned Brandybuck Hobbits travel to Erabor with their dragon.

The presence of said scaled creature greatly reduced the danger they experienced on the road, but greatly increased the amount of towns they needed to avoid.

In the end, they reached the Lonely Mountain, and The Shire Dragon was able to squeeze himself into the back door.

* * *

A little impressed by the large piles of gold, he confronted Smaug about how rude and disrespectful he had been over the years. Invading a home and driving away an entire population? Shameful, really.

Smaug, being a proper winged fire-drake, looked down on the Worm and told him in no uncertain terms to bugger off.

Beratic, having none of that, bit Smaug quite hard on the nose.

While Fire Drakes may be nigh-impenetrable against spears and steel swords, Dragon Fangs were another thing altogether and noses in particular tended to be a bit soft.

And so, before Smaug "the most Chiefest and Greatest of Calamities" could finish shrieking outrage and get around to actually spitting flame, he experienced the rather painful sensation of his blood hardening in some rather important arteries.

Thus ended Smaug the Golden.

When cautiously asked if he wanted a reward for such a great deed, The Shire Dragon looked about, and asked if there were any strains of Mushrooms that only grew in dwarven mountains.

There were.

They were delicious.


	5. Sad Beginnings

**Sad Beginnings**

* * *

Many believe Hobbits came to be rather suddenly, without explanation.  
This of course, is not true. Every kind has a story from their very beginnings, whether or not they remember it.  
To know the story of Hobbits, one must first know the story of Men.

* * *

At the start of the First Age, the first Men woke up in Hildorien, a land to the far east. When the Sun rose for the first time, the Men began wandering west toward it, and would arrive in Beleriland many centuries later.  
The story begins here, with three siblings.

To three brothers, The Valar gave garments blessed with the power to change their shape. The 'why' of this action has been lost to history. Perhaps a few Valar favored the Men, for they knew that race would come to inherit all of Middle-Earth. Perhaps it was a whim.

The first Garment was a vest of bronze and green, and the wearer could change into any scaled beast. From a snake that could swallow a horse, to the barest flash of silver minnow. It was worn by the eldest.  
The second was a scarf of silver and white, and the wearer could change into any feathered beast. From the smallest sparrow to an Osprey so large as to be comparable to the Great Eagles. It was worn by the Middle brother.  
The third was a cloak of gold and brown, and the wearer could change into any furred beast. From the tiniest field mouse to a Bear twice as large as the largest ox. This was worn by the youngest, who was newly an adult in his kind.

* * *

When Morgoth went to the east, he discovered Men, and the three brothers with their magic garments. He had departed during the siege of Angband, and tried his hand at corrupting a few Men to bring back to his army, as he had with the Elves to form his Orcs.

Morgoth visited the race of Men, and showed his power to them in great feats of magic and illusion. They were awed by his magic, and knew no better when he proclaimed to be one of the Valar come to bless those who followed him directly.  
Many men readily obeyed, abandoning the Ilúvatar to favor their lord. Thus, a shadow was cast upon Man in their early awakening.

It was not long before some of his followers brought the brothers and their magic garments to Morgoth's attention.  
He realized the cloaks were powerful artifacts, and if used properly, could create all sorts of foul creatures to sneak past defenses under the guise of innocence.  
However, the power of the cloaks were divided amongst the three. He would need all three to begin the foul plans already sprouting in his mind.

Morgoth approached the three brothers, and asked for the Garments, claiming it was he who had gifted them in the first place, and would like to have them back.

The eldest readily agreed, having seen the might and beauty of his magic, and believing this claim to be true.

The middle brother was reluctant, having spied with keen eagle eyes, the darkness that laid beyond their home. The eldest scolded him gently, explaining greater blessings would come to them for the graciousness of returning a gift. The middle brother could not argue with the logic and removed his vest to place it beside the shimmering scarf.

The youngest followed his brothers example, easily shedding the cloak and offering it with both hands.

In that moment, the greed and contempt for Men crept onto Morgoth's face, but none of them could recognize the evil behind it. Morgoth turned on the brothers, intending to curse them for their foolishness.  
The Eldest brother he struck first, changing his form into a huge snake.  
The Middle brother he struck second, turning him into a huge bear.

The Youngest brother he struck third, but the boy had seen what was happening, and tried to shield himself with the cloak. For all his speed, he could not cover himself fast enough.  
The spell only splashed a small part of him, cloak blocking the evil of the magic, but could not stop the partial transformation to a fox.  
The blast also destroyed most of the cloak, leaving only a singed hood.  
Furious at the loss of the item, Morgoth gathered the Vest and Scarf, as well as the writhing shape of the eldest brother, and fled back to Angband.

The youngest brother stood, anguished at the transformation and subsequent theft of his brother.  
He removed the singed hood, and with it any chance of returning to the shape of a normal Man, for the half-finished magic had then locked into its current state.  
He wept for his eldest brother, and tucked the hood over the middle brother's head, despite the mindless snarl he received in return.

The Middle brother was driven out of the city, and traveled as a bear for many years. In that time he truly was a beast, without his human mind or memories.  
The Youngest left as well, traveling north and west, finally settling in the Anduin valley.

* * *

The Valar contained Morgoth for a while, but he still had the power of his fortress of Angband, and the two powerful Garments.  
He eventually figured out the spells, and used them to twist the eldest brother into a massive dragon. The forced magic corrupted the brother's mind and filled it with wrath, and his torture was quick to bury his memories of life as a Man.  
The eldest was renamed Glaurung.  
Over the span of two hundred years, Morgoth was was able to perfect the process and replicate the spells on other Men. He created other great Dragons from the shells of Men, beasts consumed by greed and fire, and released them upon the world.

* * *

The Great Bear lived for many years in the mountains, hunting and living like all animals do. Slowly, he found himself regaining his mind and memories, and was able to transform back into a man with the last magic of the hood.  
He learned the language of many creatures, and became friends with them. With the peace and protection he offered, they began to learn Westron in return, and were able to grow skilled and clever to serve him in thanks.  
He found that his curse bred true, and all his children could also change their skins to that of a bear.

* * *

The Youngest brother also found that each of his children bore the curse, showing signs of having inhuman traits even as a babe. they really couldn't include themselves in the race of Men any longer.  
Their teeth were still a bit sharp, ears a bit pointed, and still fonder of burrows than houses. Their feet still resembled rounded paws more than a man's soft toes, with hard pads on their feet and thick curls of fur on their legs.

And so, they renamed themselves "Holbytla", or Hole-Builders, for they did pride themselves in their lovely burrows that were warm and homely. The term slowly changed over the years, eventually settling into "Hobbit"

They had no written history at first, sticking to songs and storytelling.

Their past became blurred as generations died and changed the stories, or forgot them altogether.

Eventually, Hobbits forgot their sad beginnings, though never recovered from the instinctual fear of strangers.


End file.
